Dear Diary,
by somatogenic
Summary: As we all laugh at the chaotic world of Ranma 1/2, what are the characters going though? Gender changing, and nonstop fighting (along with a disturbed childhood) the hilarious life of Ranma Saotome, may not be so funny . . .
1. Dear Diary . . . (brused and battered he...

**MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE  
  
By warriorGL**  
  
**Writers note's are in bold, K?  
  
Ever four spaces mean it's switching from Ranma writing, to him, um, acting.  
  
I was listing to The Very Best Of Sting and The Police when I came up with this. I was going to use one of the songs on it for a song fic, and was in a Ranma idea searcher' meantalitly, when I heard this song. It screamed to me RANMA RANMA! VERY ANGESTY RANMA!!! and, sadly, I can not resist. Although it's not so sadly since it got me to write this fic! At the end of this story, I will put down the lyrics to Message In a Bottle' since it really help bring the point out in this story.  
Bye bye for now!**  
  
  
  
  
Ranma looked around to make sure that no one was around, and opened a book he pulled out from under his pillow. The cover was a flame red, looking as if to burn you, even though it was barley bigger than the hand holding it (Ranma's; his hand being stretched out length wise). It had (with a black permaniet marker) been scrawled messily upon, depicting a do not enter' sign on it, and various things of that nature. In the middle of all the chaotic doodles and writing, Ranma's' was jotted down in cursive. Ranma now took the book, and promply started to write in it.  
  
  
  
  
I've always been the one saving people.  
  
Akane inperticular.  
  
But what if I need some saving myself?  
  
Who would help me then?  
  
When I think about this fact, I'm scared.  
  
Scared shitless by the fact that I might not be able to defeat something, and might need help.  
  
But where will that help come from?  
  
Every one I know would be defeated by it, if it defeated me.  
  
Why I push myself.  
  
So what if it exhausts me now, if it'll save my life later.  
  
My motto.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ranma looked up from writing in his journal' (it's really his diary, but he's too manly to admit it) to see if anyone was around.  
  
  
  
  
  
While I have this peace and quiet, I might as well address a few other things that I have problems with.  
  
You would think that I'd start out with Akane don't you? Well I'm not.  
  
I have more problems (and I'm not talking about my fiances either!)  
  
But there inside me.  
  
Yes me.  
  
I have problems.  
  
Personal problems, that I have only confined in you, over all those years of horrid training.  
  
Hey, I'm not saying that I don't like training, it just that . . . it came at such a price.  
  
Like losing my mother from my childhood.  
  
THAT is a problem.  
  
A big problem.  
  
God knows how much I miss having a mother.  
  
God knows how much I've hurt because of it.  
  
The scar is still there, from when I was torn away from by own mother, crying and screaming.  
  
It's more than a scar that I've got from fighting or anything, it an emotional scar.  
  
I've probaly got as many of those as I've gotten from doing any kind of martial art.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ranma chuckled here. A sad chuckle, one that almost brang waterfalls down his cheeks, but he only used the pause to collect his thoughts, he was on a roll for getting his feelings out, and he didn't want to stop that ball from rolling.  
  
  
  
  
  
Not having a mother around really caused a lot of problems for me now that I think of it.  
  
For starters, I never learned how to listen to my heart, or how to listen to it.  
I've always learned to listen to dad's heart, and do what he told me to do.  
  
But this whole fiance thing really showed me that if I only listened to my own heart, I could fill this hole in me.  
  
Did I mentan that on top of the fact that I have tons of emotional scars that I have this hole thing in my heart?  
  
It's there because I never listened to my heart, and from the lack of using my heart, is has grown a bit of a hole in it because of miss use.  
  
Not that I'm complaining or anything.  
But I am.  
Because I have a right to, after all this.  
And I've got to learn that.  
  
Going back to the heart thing, and my mother, the two are related.  
  
My mother is a wonderful person who always uses her heart to help, as I want to do on so many occasions.  
  
The problem is that my father never uses his heart for things like that, so, as I have told you, have followed his example, using his cold heart as a guide.  
  
But I need to follow my own heart, and use it as my own compass, for my life.  
  
For my future.  
  
Maybe this is something I can do, starting with telling Akane how I feel.  
  
If I can get the guts to do so.  
  
I don't get it!  
  
You see, I have the guts to face death it's self, but not the fact that I lov- like Akane.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ranma cut himself off, not even wanting to admit it on paper, and that gave him a small, bittersweet, smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
I guess that shows how much I need improving! (I laugh)  
  
Tomorrow, my theories on love! (no, this not a joke!)  
  
  
  
Love,  
Ranma Takeru Satome  
  
  
  
  
  
Ranma put his journal' under his pillow quickly as he heard his father coming. What are you doing boy? asked his father gruffly, frowning at the fact that his son might be hiding from him. Nothing dad, nothing, said Ranma, his voice twinged with a hint of sorrow behind it's depths. Well it better be nothing, good night, he scowled at his son, then plopped down in his bed, and turned his back to Ranma. Good night old man, Ranma said quietly, staring at the ceiling, until his eyes where too heavy to hold open any longer. Letting sleep take over, a tear slipped down his cheek silently, tearing another cut in the boy's heart.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Well, what'd ya' think? Angesty enough? Too angesty? Tell me by reviewing, or, writing to me at: **warriorGL@everclearfanatic.com**. I really love hearing from people, and I hope to here from you soon! Oh yea, about Ranma's middle name being Takeru' . . . I made it up! If you have a different name for Ranma, please, let me know. I only chose it because A) There is this guy digimon (my ex obsessive anime) character that is named that, and he reminds me very much of Ranma . . . and . . . B) Takeru, the name, means hope, which I thought was very fitting for him, no? And now, the lyrics I promased you earlyer!  
  
**Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh  
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh  
More loneliness than any man could bear  
Rescue me before I fall into despair, oh  
  
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world  
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my   
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Message in a bottle, yeah  
  
A year has passed since I wrote my note  
But I should have known this right from the start  
Only hope can keep me together  
Love can mend your life but   
Love can break your heart  
  
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world  
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my   
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Message in a bottle, yeah  
  
Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw  
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore  
Seems I'm not alone at being alone  
Hundred billion castaways, looking for a home  
  
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world  
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my   
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Sending out at an S.O.S.  
Sending out at an S.O.S.  
Sending out at an S.O.S.  
Sending out at an S.O.S.  
Sending out at an S.O.S.  
Sending out at an S.O.S...


	2. Fight, Fight, Flight! (broken glass in a...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Prologue:  
  
Acting  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
With a smile and a grin, Ryoga and Ranma fought.  
  
It was really a joke, the fighting.  
  
Or more like a play.  
  
Ryoga played the part of the hurt crusher, and started a fight with Ranma.  
Ranma would then fight back, and then they would have an excuse for fighting.  
  
Neither one had a chance to spar and practice their martial arts skills (Ranma did, but all ways rose to the opportunity to practice more).  
  
Thus was the necessity to give their (almost) daily play.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Fight! Fight! Flight!   
  
  
(shattered glass in an empty room)   
  
  
=  
  
  
  
  
Part One and Two of Part Two  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Fighting with Ranma is _always _a pleaser.  
  
  
He is my best friend and brother, though thick and thin.  
  
We just like to play.  
  
That's all.  
  
  
That's why I am going to ask him to come with me, to my house, and stay there for a while, maybe forever.  
  
Sides I need him to tell me where my house **_is!_**  
  
I laugh at my own patheticness here.  
  
As I have done ever so many times before.  
  
I turn around and get back to the point before I get lost in the recesses of my mind.  
  
  
Essentially, I want him to run away with me.  
  
  
I know he wants to get away, to exsape this mad torture of unnecessary cruelty.  
  
Why I'll offer.  
  
I do hope he embrace my kindly offer of gratitude.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And, I must sign off here,  
  
Ryoga Hibiki  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
We will now pick off EXACTLY where we left.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
After several hours of sleep, Ranma awoke to find two pairs of electric emerald eyes starring deep into his boisterous blue. A heavy finger pressed agenst his lip hard, hard enough to know to shut up, and stay that way until told other wise.  
  
Not being as dumb as he played or looked to be, Ranma obeyed Pig Boy.  
  
Out of respect, and the fact he might get beaten to a pulp later on.   
  
Pig Boy removed his rather thick finger away from his lips, and took his hand to creep out and away from the dojo.  
  
  
After doing so (the out and away) Ranma was pondering what the hell dear Charlotte wanted with him at aproximently 2.5 AM in the morning.  
  
  
I. Wanted. To. Talk., Ryoga finally answered to his obvious mind question, saying each word in it's own sentence, giving Ranma the vague impression the he REALLY meant it.Well, it better be danm good - , Ranma was cut off by the spin cracking, mind blowing, shower of affection hug he had just received.I shall (tragically) run away this morning, Ryoga said in a morbid tone, starting to cry rivers and oceans at the very thought of leaving his beloved friend. I'll go with ya, ya big sissy! Ran - chan managed to squeak out, and then, after his comment, promptly had his very innards squashed out of his very mangled being.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
2.456679 hours later . . . .  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
This will be so much FUN, Ryoga squealed, quite literally, because, at that very moment, he was a small, black pig with a bandana wrapped around his head. The female he was currently squashed up agenst with (Ranma) wrapped her bony knuckles upon his small head. Shadd up! she spat at him, but he only grinned harder. How could he not squeal for the pure joy of running away with his **very very** bestest friend in the whole universe!   
  
We're here, Ranma said with a grin plastered messily on her lovely face.   
  
Rain pored down on the two as the dragged their luggage into the warm house hold.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Part Two of Part two  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He could not believe what had happened.  
  
His son had run away to god knows where, leaving behind three very angry females.  
  
But the forth was content.  
  
She knew where Ranma hid, and would not tell a soul where.  
  
This made him want to slap the girl in the face until her head spun.  
  
But her father was interfering.  
  
This was aggravating.  
  
This was not what he had trained his son for a decade to do.  
  
He took an emptied sake bottle and threw it agenst his hotel room.  
  
That was how he felt.  
  
The empty room was how he felt.  
  
He fell asleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Next time:  
  
  
  
  
  
Happy little punks!  
  
  
  
(dragon tattoos and tounge pearcings)  
  
  
  
  
  
=  
  
  
  
  
Part Three (and five quarters!)  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
